


Apartment for One

by nightlight9



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 15:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3773173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightlight9/pseuds/nightlight9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale has been through a lot: Kate, the fire, Peter's betrayal. Now that things are calming down in Beacon Hills, things should be looking up for him. But Derek is adrift, trying not to drown in loneliness, a wolf without a pack.</p><p>Then an unexpected friend shows up, and things start looking up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apartment for One

**Author's Note:**

> Set after 3A but 3B never happens.

Derek Hale has been through a lot, anyone can see that. He lost most of his family to a fire he blames himself for. He lost his sister and was forced to kill his uncle. He had to deal with a potential pack member telling him how terrible he is, had to deal with facing the woman who took his love and repaid it by burning his house down, had to listen to Peter explain how and why he took Laura’s life. Then there was the kanima problem, nearly drowning, dating another psychopath, being hated by the only family he has left. More guilt, more shame, more burden, more blame. A beta that left only to be killed. A beta that came back only to die by his hands. A beta that he scared away. No trust. No family. No pack.

All the shit he went through to help Scott, and Derek wasn’t even considered for McCall pack membership. Derek doesn’t blame Scott though. He wouldn’t want him either. All he’s good for is growling and fucking things up. Why would they want him when things are finally looking up for Beacon Hills?

So yeah, Derek knows all about hurt and pain and fear. And yet, he’s good, or at least he tries to be. He bought a small apartment with the money from the fire, big enough for one. Every Wednesday he helps Ms. Shepard carry her groceries inside, putting them in their designated places before helping her with whatever random chores she still needs to get done. He sets up a fund in Laura’s name to help secure safety for wolves in the wild. He volunteers at a soup kitchen Tuesday and Thursday nights when he isn’t working at the used bookstore downtown. He goes to therapy twice a week, trying to deal with the mountain of self-loathing he carries on his back. Sometimes Ms. Shepard will invite him for dinner or Mr. Lenard down the hall with come and watch a game with him. No one from the pack ever stops by. Sometimes he’ll see them through the bookshop’s window, laughing with one another as they walk down the street. Neither Scott nor Isaac spare a glance in the shop’s direction even though Derek knows they must register his scent. They wouldn’t see him even if they did look over - he sinks down behind the counter every time. 

Some days are better then others for Derek, like when he notices the peppers he planted on his balcony are growing or when a stray cat breaks into his apartment and decides to call it home. Most days he goes through the motions of life, neither happy or sad, a walking in-between state that rings of monotonous routine. Other days, too many days, he wakes up drowning. His lungs heave with the effort of taking in air, his hands shake with the pressures of getting out of bed. On these days, sometimes, he can’t force himself to leave the apartment, can’t force himself to do anything more than curl up on the cool tile in the kitchen and wait for his heart to stop beating - though it never does. 

The sheriff finds him on one of these days.

The knocking jolts him from memories that flash like movies, memories of Peter’s skin blistering from the Molotov cocktail, scorching all over again. He’s surprised enough by the disruption that he pulls himself to his feet then to the door. He expects maybe that it’s Mr. Lenard, who always manages to guess when Derek is having a bad day. He’s never come over on these days, waiting until it’s passed to knock on the door with a six-pack and some books or movies he thinks Derek would like. 

John gives him a hard look as the door swings open. “Jesus, Derek.” The older man doesn’t wait for an invitation to come inside, shouldering past the stunned werewolf and moving into his living room. Derek closes the door slowly, his brain struggling to understand what’s happening. He wants to ask a question -maybe, ‘has something happened’ or ‘is everyone alright’ - but he can’t remember how the words taste on his tongue. 

“Haven’t seen you around in a while, so I thought I should make sure you’re doing alright. I would have been by sooner but when I asked Stiles where I could find you he looked at me blankly and said he had no idea.” Stiles. The name presses into Derek’s chest. A whine pulls from his throat without his consent. John doesn’t look that surprised. “You don’t look so good, Derek. Why don’t you sit down.”

With robotic movements, Derek complies, settling into the couch. The sheriff plops down on the oversized armchair Ms. Shepard’s daughter gave him, looking pleased when he notes how comfortable it is. 

And then he talks.

He tells Derek about the case he’s working on, about how his neighbor got a new dog, about how a man named Lucas keeps calling the station for all the wrong reasons, and how Myra Louis nearly drove her car through a bank because of a bee. He doesn’t ask Derek any questions, doesn’t ask Derek to talk. Aside from his brief comment about Stiles, he doesn’t mention the pack. When he’s done he checks his watch and says he has to go. 

Derek follows him to the door because he doesn’t know what else to do. The pressure pounding in his skull has dimmed enough that he manages two words before the sheriff walks out. “Thank you.” John pats his back, smiles, and walks off down the hall.

The next time it happens, Derek’s not having a bad day. In fact, he’s in the middle of making stir fry and chatting with Mr. Lenard when John knocks on his door. He looks pleasantly surprised to see that Derek has company. Mr. Lenard squints at John long and hard before nodding once and deeming that he’s ‘not going to hurt Derek so he can come inside.’ The comment and approval make John laugh. Then he accepts a beer and a plate and settles in with them to watch a college basketball game.

It becomes a pattern after that. Once or twice a week, John stops by. Sometimes Mr. Lenard is there so they watch a game. Other times John and Derek just sit around and talk. It’s nice, having someone to talk to who knows everything (not his counselor, he doesn’t count). John is glad to hear that Derek’s in therapy, pleased to find out that he has a job, and proud when Derek tells him about the cause in Laura’s name. It takes Derek many meetings to finally ask what the sheriff is doing, why he’s taking time out of his day to check on Derek (he’s not having the best day when he asks, so it comes out as a plea). John smiles a sad smile and says that everyone needs someone to lean on. Neither of them bring it up again. 

One night just as Derek’s about to make dinner, John shows up with Melissa and a chicken casserole that’s still warm. Derek invites them in, so confused by everything that’s happening but glad to have the company. Watching the ease with which the older pair interact leaves Derek warm and happy. As they’re leaving, Melissa pulls Derek in for a long hug. That’s the first night since the fire that Derek cries, wrapped up in the arms of a mother who may not be his but who cares enough to hold onto him anyway. Melissa shows up more often after that, at the bookstore when she can, at his apartment with a batch of homemade oatmeal cookies, at the homeless shelter one day when she doesn’t have to go to work. Every time she shares gossip from the hospital or horror stories from the grocery store. Every time she gives him a long hug before she leaves. 

It takes nearly four months before someone from the pack shows up. Isaac stares at him for a long time before leaning closer to sniff his scent. The sight of the young werewolf makes Derek’s heart race, thundering in his rib cage, too close to panic. “I followed Melissa here last week,” the blond says. And then he collapses in a heap against Derek, mumbling about how he misses them so much and how it’s not fair that they’re gone. Derek pulls him inside, sets him on the couch, and they spend the night sharing their stories and memories of Erica and Boyd. Isaac ends up sleeping on the couch and Derek makes sure he eats breakfast before he leaves, which makes the blond roll his eyes and call him ‘dad.’ Derek smacks him on the back of the head. Isaac laughs. The knot in Derek’s throat loosens.

Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised when Lydia storms into the bookstore while he’s working, demanding that he point her in the right direction to find books about Norse mythology or when Allison steps up beside him with a genuine smile to help serve soup to the homeless. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that one of the nights Melissa and John come over for dinner, a timid looking Scott trails in after them, asking how Derek’s doing in a soft voice and smiling like he’s actually happy to see him.

But what surprises him the most is when he stumbles into his apartment one night and Stiles is curled up on the couch, eyes closed, breathing soft, nestled around Cat with a smile on his lips. The sight makes Derek’s breath catch in his throat. A sudden panic seizes him, making him slide down the wall beside the front door with a whine. He can’t say what sparks the panic attack. All he knows is that it takes no time at all for Stiles to wake up, cross the room to kneel by his side, and place gentle hands on his face.

“Sh, Derek. It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Stiles doesn’t make fun of him or say anything cruel. He just offers a sad smile and tucks Derek’s face into the curve of his neck. Even after the panic ebbs away, Stiles doesn’t let go.

\-----------

“Seriously Scott, you’re a terrible werewolf teacher.” Stiles is standing at the stove, stirring spaghetti sauce that’s been simmering all day. “I swear without me you would be clueless.”

At the new kitchen table, Melissa tips her head back and lets out a bright laugh, one that is echoed by most of the people in the room. Scott looks at everyone with mock offense and puppy dog eyes. Kira, his new kitsune girlfriend, leans close and kisses his cheek. Liam, the new werewolf Scott’s training, blushes and argues that he’s ‘trying his best.’

Derek is curled back against his recliner, watching everything with a sense of awe that hasn’t worn off yet, even though dinners like this are nothing new. A cool beer brewed with wolfsbane is pressed between both of his hands as he watches everyone laugh. A curl of contentment settles low in his gut. He hasn’t had a bad day in weeks.

“Derek, man. Back me up here. I’m not really that bad.” Scott is staring at him in earnest. 

Maybe, at one time, Derek would have growled at him. At a different time, he would have agreed with anything he said if it meant Scott approved of him. Now he just squints in consideration. “Well, everyone’s still in one piece, so I guess you’re not that bad.” The comment makes Scott whine and sends Isaac into a lecture about how he did nearly lose a finger, pouting until Allison takes his hand and kisses it better. 

Derek hides a smile behind his drink and Stiles comes over to perch on the arm of his chair, reaching a hand out to curl it around his neck. Derek leans into the touch and closes his eyes. When he opens them it’s to see the sheriff smiling over at him, nodding once like he always does when he catches Derek and Stiles curled together in some way.

“So, are you going to help me with dinner or what, Sourwolf?” Stiles asks in a quiet voice, smiling down at him. Derek snags one arm around his waist, pulling him so the younger man is resting on his lap. He smacks at Derek’s arm, complaining that he still needs to drain the noodles, all the while relaxing back into Derek's chest. 

“This is nice, isn’t it,” Stiles asks after a long pause. Derek presses his nose behind Stiles’ ear, making an affirmative sound. With a huff, Stiles turns in his lap to look him in the eyes. “This is good?”

In response Derek leans forward, pressing their lips together gently. “Yeah,” he whispers into his mouth.

“Good. I just-. I know it’s a lot, having everyone here, but we’ve been waiting for you. It’s been too long since the pack has been together like this, all one, all home.”

Derek swallows, thinking back on the long months it took for them to get to this point, how many bad days he lived through, how many bad days were made better when someone from the pack showed up. They had been there through everything and Derek hadn’t even known it because they were giving him space to figure everything out and grieve properly. They were giving him time to forgive himself.

“This is good,” he whispers again. 

A well aimed pillow makes Stiles’ and Derek’s heads knock together. Stiles pulls back to glare at Lydia, who’s smiling from her spot in Jordan Parrish’s arms. “What,” she asks, all too sweet. “I’m hungry.”

Derek laughs and pushes Stiles up. He has a pack to feed. His pack.

The apartment big enough for one isn’t big enough any more.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result from all my feelings about how Hoechlin is leaving, how shitty Derek's life is, and how I just wish he had it better.


End file.
